(I addressed this to a friend. The thing is, I won’t send it to her. I want it to be read, though, so please do.)
Read this in a place and time where you can handle an emotional outburst. You can’t know how sorry I am for burdening you with this, but you deserve an explanation.
If you feel guilty at this for any second, I swear I will haunt you for the rest of your life.
1/13/14. I have no idea what you were doing that day, but you might remember it by receiving a somewhat suicidal message from me. You texted me later, and I eventually responded that I got hacked*. I really don’t know if you believed me, but you stopped asking questions. I’m incredibly relieved that you did.
If you think you can handle it, read this. This is my account of my first attempted suicide.
*Note: I looked long and hard, but at the
time I couldn’t find a delay-send service. I had to settle on begging you to read it after school.
I had tossed around the idea of suicide for some months. I knew how I’d do it, but I had yet to pick a date. Then, January tenth. Friday. I learned that my mom’s hectic work schedule had coincided with my stepdad’s to leave them both gone Monday morning. It was perfect.
Monday morning. My mom calls goodbye as she leaves for work. I sit in my bed and stare at the ceiling for fifteen minutes. Dragging myself out of bed, I pulled on my favorite set of clothes.
My biggest problem of my plan was the gun. I had never even touched a gun before, so I had no complete idea how to use it. I scavenged through my parents’ room and eventually found both guns in a drawer. I grabbed the one with the bigger bullets, grabbed the magazine, and put the other gun back. (I spent about a half hour online to learn how to load and engage the safety of the Browning.)
Eventually, around 8, I was ready to leave. I put on my jacket, loaded the gun, mag, phone, and note, left some money on the table with an apology note, and left.
(I couldn’t try in my house. I can’t do that to family.)
I walked to the place, taking some Advil to thin my blood. When I got there, I leaned against a tree and tried to distract myself for a while to let the Advil work. I tried listening to music, but it didn’t help. The last song I listened to before putting my phone away was “Crossroads” by Devour the Day. I still can’t listen to it.
I had some plans to fulfill, though. I had done some research but couldn’t find a time-delay message service, so I was forced to send a Facebook message prefaced with me begging them not to read it until after school (so they wouldn’t have to read a suicide note in the middle of class). I sent the messages, deactivated my account, and turned off my phone in case people tried to call me.
After a while, I was ready. I sat against a tree, finding a comfortable pillow in the snow. My shoulders sagged against the bark as I shoved the mag into the Browning. I flicked off the safety and pushed the barrel against my throat.
It’s impossible to describe what I was thinking as I felt the barrel on my artery. The only way I can get close is to say that I was just growing more and more numb. So, when I pulled the trigger and nothing happened, it took a second to register.
I know nothing about guns, so I don’t know why it didn’t fire, just clicked. But I didn’t go all the way out here not to die, so I reloaded and tried again. Click.
At that point I couldn’t even form a coherent thought. I was just reacting.
I reloaded once more and tried one last time. To be fair, I knew it wasn’t going to work.
After that last click, the gun fell into my lap as I stared into the trees around me. I felt nothing. I didn’t care if I was alive or dead. The only thing I even remotely wanted was to sit there in the snow and be numb.
Gradually, I figured that people would have called the police or someone, so I dragged myself to my feet and walked home.
My mind cleared somewhat on the walk, but I was still so apathetic to everything that I was only mildly shocked to not see a police car in my driveway.
I walked inside the empty house (my dog was only a little happy to see me) and decided not to go to school. There’s no way I could act even remotely normal. But I decided to turn my phone back on.
Immediately greeting me were tens of texts from my closest friend, asking me what was happening and if I was okay and…. if I was hacked.
I was ready to admit to my failure and talk to people about it, but I hesitated after that comment. “If I claim I was hacked”, I mused, “nothing changes. I can keep my secrets, and my life.” So that’s what I did.
I went to school the next day as normal.
I’ve never, ever told this story before this document.
I hope something was learned and gained from this.
1 comment
I have been this way for years and the worst thing I can think of is to let anyone know how I feel. I don’t want to be locked away in some mental ward. For some people depression is a lifetime disease that will not heal. I have tried all the meds and still I have no good outlook towards life. I take lots of methadone and that keeps me numb most of the time. I wouldn’t want to use my gun unless it was a last resort. I don’t want to traumatize my family any more than my eventual suicide will cause